


Let Me Be With You

by stardropdream



Series: Let Me Be With You [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Chobits, Artificial Intelligence, First Meetings, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Robot/Human Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-29 14:48:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19022116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: Keith's a poor mechanic living alone in the city. Shiro's an abandoned, seemingly broken persocom left out with tomorrow's trash.One night, Keith finds him and decides to take him home.





	Let Me Be With You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [raitoningu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raitoningu/gifts).



> Fic request from [Sa](https://twitter.com/LStrikesArt), who asked for a Chobits AU! (Catch me always ready to dive head-first into CLAMP AUs.) 
> 
> A million, trillion thanks to [Ana](https://twitter.com/shiningwills) and [Heather](https://twitter.com/hchanooo/) for reading this over for me. Thank you so much!
> 
> (Edited December 2019 for typos/grammar.)

At the end of another long day at the garage, Keith shouts goodbye to his Uncle Kolivan and leaves to head back to his apartment. It’s early evening, just on the edge of chilly, and Keith shrugs into his jacket as he ducks his way out of the back alley and towards the main road. After long days like this, he’s grateful he lives only a few short blocks from his work 

Keith weaves his way down the side-streets and onto the main avenue cutting through the busy city neighborhood. It’s louder here with the larger foot traffic and flashing lights of the box stores, the sidewalks thick with people going about their business. Keith weaves his way through throngs of people, mindful not to break out of the flow of traffic. 

He passes by the massive electronic store, people crowded at the door and a long queue filing all the way back to the street corner. Keith glances at the newest advertisements, _Up to thirty-six hours of continuous battery life!, Self-charging and solar-charging available!, Get a persocom that does its job right!_ and _So adaptable, it’s nearly human!_ , before hurrying down the street to catch the crosswalk light just before it changes. 

It’s a well-tread path, one he takes nearly every night after work without incident. 

Tonight, though, he shoulder-checks a girl heading in the opposite direction, just one step behind the boy she’s with. 

Keith falters and stops, nearly losing his balance, and instinctively reaches out to catch her by the elbow before she stumbles or falls down. 

“Sorry,” Keith says, concerned. He clipped her hard and she hasn’t said anything, not even a gasp of surprise. He asks her, “Are you alright?” 

“It’s fine,” the guy standing beside her cuts in, wrapping his arm around her and tugging her pointedly from Keith’s hold. Keith’s hand drops away. “You didn’t hurt it. No harm done, man.” 

It’s only then that Keith realizes the girl he’s bumped into isn’t a girl at all. Her electronic cat ears are a dead giveaway: a persocom. She hasn’t made any reaction to being jostled and merely smiles at Keith now, the little lights in the ear glowing with received transmissions and microtasks.

Keith squirms, just for a moment unsettled. “Uh. Right.” 

He hesitates, the urge to apologize still sitting there unsaid. He shoves his hands into his pockets and turns away, instead. 

It’s not the first time he’s made this mistake; with every passing year, persocoms grow more popular in the city. With newer and more frequent upgrades, persocoms are more affordable than ever— well, for everyone but Keith, at least— and at a glance, they’re easy to overlook as just another person walking down the street. It’s part of the appeal, as far as Keith can tell: personal computers perfectly calibrated and designed to serve their owners. 

Keith doesn’t quite see the appeal. Hunk suggested a few months back that he consider getting one for the convenience, but Keith has a shitty ten-year-old laptop that does everything he needs, even if slowly. Keith doesn’t quite see the _convenience_ in shelling out thousands of dollars for a human-shaped computer that needs to be hooked up to another screen (at an additional charge) to do most of the things he’d need from a computer. They’re not even waterproof and Keith can’t imagine it’s entirely practical to buy a raincoat and umbrella for a _computer_. Plus, Keith fails to see the point of having a computer so massive that you have to buy a second ticket on public transit. 

Then again, nobody’s really asking Keith’s opinion on technology— which is just as well. His specialty is fixing up cars and bikes at his uncle’s shop, not electronics. Most modern cars have computers in their systems, of course, but Keith wouldn’t necessarily trust himself to fix CPU problems or whatever a persocom would need.

Keith finishes crossing the busy avenue and steps onto one of its side-streets, making his way towards the little studio apartment he rents. He gives oncoming foot traffic a wide berth. Keith’s definitely bumped into a few persocoms in the past with owners who got _very_ angry at him for it, like an accidental hip-bump means damaged electronics. 

Keith sighs as he heads down a less-trafficked street, hands curled up tight in his pockets and ducking his shoulders against the evening chill. 

In the end, Keith can’t deny he’d appreciate a better computer, probably; it’d make things easier, he figures. His laptop _is_ old and currently clocks in at twenty to thirty minutes when booting up. But he isn’t fussed about it. 

“It’s not like I’d even use all of a persocom’s features, anyway,” Keith mutters to himself and kicks a stray pebble with his boot. 

It skitters across the back alley leading up to his apartment and stops only once it hits a pile of garbage bags set out by a dumpster. And there’s a man lying in that pile of garbage bags. 

_There’s a man lying in that pile of garbage bags._

Keith swears, loudly, and takes one step back in his surprise. Instinct fuels him forward, though, and a moment later, he’s jogging towards him. “Fuck— Hey! Are you okay? Oh, shit, are you _dead_?” 

The man doesn’t answer, and Keith feels the panic slam through him. It slithers down his spine, a fight or flight response. He’s hot and cold at once, his entire body shaking. Grab a weapon, defend yourself, the killer is still out there—

He has no idea what to do in this situation. He should call the police, right? He just found a dead man in the garbage, he just uncovered a crime and he’s next or he’s the suspect now and—

And the man has electronic ears. 

Just as quickly as panic galloped through Keith’s entire body, making him taut with adrenaline, it slams out of him again. He feels like he’s run a mile in five minutes. He heaves a breath and then slumps forward, hands on his knees as he gulps down a deep breath. 

He lets out a relieved sigh, panting. “Fuck. Okay. Wow. Just a persocom…” 

He’s a little embarrassed he missed the obvious ears, considering how big they are. 

Keith’s heart is still racing when he scoots closer to study the persocom in the trash. He’s wrapped up in some sort of packaging bandages. Upon closer inspection, it isn’t just the ears that give him away as a computer; one of his arms is missing the covering skin, metallic and gleaming beneath the wrapped packaging. He’s completely still, his white hair dirty and falling over his closed eyes. Dark eyelashes fan over his cheeks. 

Keith kneels next to him, fingers reaching out and ghosting over the persocom’s face, tracing a jagged scar across the bridge of his nose. Beyond that scar and the exposed arm, there doesn’t seem to be anything physically wrong with him. 

“Who’d throw you out?” Keith muses aloud, as if the persocom is going to answer him. He frowns down at him, continuing to study his face. Most of the persocom models and designs Keith sees on the street are feminine; it’s the first time he’s seen a persocom designed with more masculine features. The only persocoms Keith’s ever really seen look like women— beautiful, perfect, obedient. _Creepy_ , really. 

Keith can’t understand the logic behind making a persocom so damnably handsome. He brushes the hair away from the persocom’s face, almost tenderly. He’s just a persocom, Keith reminds himself, but there’s just something so melancholy about being _discarded_ in a dark back-alley with nobody around, forgotten and, presumably, never thought of again. Maybe Keith can relate. Not that he wants to start projecting onto discarded hardware. 

The persocom looks peaceful. Like he’s just sleeping. 

Keith hesitates as he stares at him and then sighs, ducking his head. “This is so fucking stupid…”

And then he reaches out to the persocom, hooking one arm under his knees and the other behind his back, easing him out of the garbage pile. Someone threw him away. Keith might not know much about computers, but he does fix cars for a living— how hard could fixing a computer be? He doesn’t look broken. And Keith’s not one to snub a free computer. 

Hold secure on the persocom, Keith tries to stand up— and topples over from the unexpected weight, his back giving a pathetic little twinge. 

“Shit!” 

As he falls, he drops the persocom and together they roll. Keith lands hard on the persocom’s body. He’s soft in that strange way persocoms are— almost human but not quite. Keith sputters a bit, lifting his head from the persocom’s pecs. 

“Why the fuck are you so heavy?” Keith asks him. 

It takes some maneuvering, but he eventually gets the persocom draped over his back, Keith’s arms tucked under his knees and carrying him piggy-back style to his apartment. Every step is a struggle: Keith isn’t weak by any means but the persocom is so deceptively heavy that Keith’s winded by the time he hits the end of the alley. 

Thankfully it’s late enough into the evening that Keith doesn’t run into anyone on his walk back. Keith isn’t sure how he’d be able to explain this: stumbling around with a handsome, buff persocom draped over him. He’s not sure if he could handle the weird looks he’d get without then getting himself into a fight— he’s too confrontational, he knows that— so he’s grateful when he gets to the front entrance of his quadplex without incident. 

He struggles his way to his bed before setting the persocom down gently onto it and collapsing with a relieved groan. He sinks to the floor, back against the bed, and spends a ridiculously long time just breathing and letting his heartrate slow. Slow breath in. Slow breath out. 

Once he catches his breath, Keith turns his head and checks over the persocom. “You okay?” 

Naturally, the persocom does not answer and Keith isn’t sure what he’d do if he _had_. He sits up on his knees and climbs up to kneel beside the persocom on his bed, studying him. 

“Alright,” Keith whispers to himself, dusting off his hands. Time to boot him up and figure out what to do next. 

Keith looks for the on switch.

And looks.

And looks. 

And keeps looking.

And _keeps looking._

“What the hell,” Keith mutters, with deep feeling. He rubs at his temple, coaxing away an encroaching headache. He’s been stuck bent over this persocom for what feels like hours now and he _can’t find the damn on-switch._

It isn’t even that he thinks the persocom isn’t able to turn on— Keith legitimately cannot find the switch. He checks over the persocom from head to toe again, starting at the crown of his head and working his way down, feeling behind his ears, under his chin, down his chest, the bottoms of his feet, the insides of his wrists. Anything that seems a feasible place to put the switch, he checks. But there’s no switch to be found. 

Keith crosses his arms over his chest and frowns. He grips his elbows tight, white-knuckled. He’s looked everywhere except—

A blush starts rising over Keith’s cheeks as he glances down the persocom’s body and then darts his eyes away again. 

“They _wouldn’t_ ,” Keith mutters to himself, scrubbing his hands over his face. 

But god, he thinks, yes they would. They would because people are creepy and awful and Keith’s not an _idiot._ He gets the reason why so many people freak out over computers that look human. Keith glances at the persocom, rolled onto his side after some effort from Keith to get him there. The bandage wrappings criss-cross down his back and lower, over the swell of his ass. 

“Ugh!” Keith yells at the ceiling. “Why do they even give computers an ass to begin with?” 

He really doesn’t want to think about it. He covers his face, rubbing his cheeks to try to will away his blush again. His entire face feels so warm and that doesn’t _help._ He’s making it even weirder. 

“Okay,” Keith says, taking a steadying breath. It’s just a computer, it’s just a computer—

He clenches his eyes shut and reaches for the persocom, taking him into his arms. He isn’t sure if that’s worse or better. He sighs and tightens his hold on him before brushing his hand down the length of his spine and then lower. 

“I’m really sorry,” Keith mutters, blushing, and presses his fingers into the cleft of his ass. 

He hears the click.

Mortified for the rest of his life, Keith truly, fundamentally can’t believe that there’s someone out there who actually designed a persocom and then put his on-switch in his ass. 

It’s the last coherent thought Keith has because as soon as the switch is activated, the persocom shudders in Keith’s arms and his eyes fly open. And all thought flies from Keith’s brain. There’s a pulse of electrical energy, all static and discharge, and the persocom sits up in Keith’s arms, the wrappings slipping off his body. He’s suddenly naked in Keith’s hold, eyes bright and glowing a shocking, electronic blue, and he turns and stares right at Keith. 

Keith stares back— can’t help it, frozen in spot as he is— and tries not to blink against the static in the air. He can feel the hairs on his arms and at the back of his neck stand up on end. The persocom stares at him, eyes and body glowing in a soft blue hue, white hair wavering around his face as if in a strong wind. 

And then just as quickly, the blue light dims and then fades completely and there’s just a naked man in Keith’s lap. 

“I’m sorry!” Keith squawks and scrambles out from under him, yanking his blanket off his bed and whipping it around to drape over the persocom’s shoulders, covering his naked body. 

The persocom stares down at his hands, one covered in the silicon composite to mimic human skin, the other the exposed metallic hand. He curls and uncurls his fingers, curiously. Keith watches as he lifts one hand and touches his face, a piece of his hair, his mouth. He frowns. 

He looks over at Keith, eyes deep and fathomless. 

“I’m so sorry,” Keith bursts out as soon as their eyes meet. “I didn’t know that’s where your— anyway, I promise I won’t do that again, but I needed to turn you on and—” 

“Shii,” the persocom answers quietly, and his voice so deep. 

Keith falters. “Um. Shii?” 

“Shii,” the persocom repeats. He touches at the blanket Keith’s draped over him, fingers worrying the fabric, as if documenting and then archiving the feel of it. 

The persocom leans forward and lifts his hands. When he touches Keith’s face, Keith doesn’t quite startle, although his eyes do widen in surprise. “Wh—”

He just stays like that, though, touching Keith and staring into his eyes. His blanket slips off his shoulders and pools at his hips and Keith can’t help but watch the movement before he forces himself to look back up again. The persocom’s body is scarred, he notes, and the cut-off between skin and metal on his right arm looks almost painful. 

“Okay,” Keith says, quietly, once it’s clear the persocom isn’t going to stop holding his face. He cups his hands over the persocom’s and slowly draws them away. “Okay, um, hi? Hi.” 

“Shii,” the persocom answers and Keith sighs, holding his hands. He doesn’t let go. 

“I don’t really know the like… etiquette for this,” Keith tells him, frowning. “But, uh, welcome? Anyway. I’m, uh… I’m Keith?” 

The persocom says nothing, staring at Keith’s face and then looking down over Keith’s body, studying him with such intensity that Keith feels entirely too exposed and, frankly, just a little bit judged.

Keith clears his throat and tugs the blanket up over the persocom’s shoulders again. 

“So anyway, you, uh… do you have a name? What should I call you?” 

He watches the persocom watch him, watches his brow furrow and mouth thin as he considers the question. He lets go of Keith’s face just to curl his hands in his blanket and tug it closer around him, frowning in confusion. 

“Shii?” he asks, voice quiet. 

“Is ‘Shii’ your name?” Keith asks, frowning. “Or—” 

Keith cuts off when the persocom’s hand plants itself against Keith’s chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breath, the thump of his heart. 

“Um,” Keith says intelligently. He stares down at the hand on his chest. 

He isn’t really fully prepared to respond further because then the persocom drifts closer to him and practically melts into him, curling his arms tight around Keith and squeezing him tight. Keith gasps, suddenly crushed in a pair of strong arms, face pressing into a warm neck. 

Keith can’t recall the last time he’s been hugged. He chokes a little and doesn’t know what to do. He _really_ doesn’t know the etiquette here. He’s essentially being hugged by a stranger. 

“O- okay, aaaand we’re hugging, I guess,” Keith mutters, blushing, and pats the persocom’s back. But the persocom doesn’t release him. He just keeps hugging Keith tight and Keith sighs, his breath ghosting against the persocom’s neck. 

Keith lets himself sink forward. He isn’t big on hugging, but he can’t deny it feels nice to be held. He tentatively squeezes him back, unsure if that’s what he’s meant to do or not. 

“I can’t really call you ‘Shii’ can I?” Keith mutters. “That doesn’t really seem like a name.” 

“Shiiii,” the persocom murmurs, and Keith marvels at the sensation of breath brushing against the shell of his ear, as if the persocom is breathing. 

Keith closes his eyes against the sensation. He’s way out of his depth. His area of expertise is cars— not people, not computers, nothing. He can handle a hug about as well as he can handle a computer manual. He swallows thickly, trying to calm himself down. 

It’s a little too overwhelming. Does he look sad enough that even a computer knows to hug him? 

He pushes a little on the persocom’s chest and he relents, loosening his hold and drawing away so they can look at one another. 

“Uh,” Keith says. “It’s not weird if I name you, is it?” 

The persocom blinks at him.

“I mean. I can’t just call you persocom, can I? Or Shii. Sounds too much like ‘Shit’ or something.” He chuckles to himself and it trails off as the persocom continues to stare at him. Keith fidgets, pushing his hair back away from his face with a huff. “Okay. Say ‘Shii’ if you want that to be your name?” 

The persocom is silent. 

“Okay!” Keith says, smiling. “Um. Now say ‘Shii’ if you want me to figure out another name?” 

“Shii,” the persocom says. Keith wonders how long it’s going to take him to not feel so shocked by the deep timbre of his voice. 

“Great. No pressure, Keith,” Keith chuckles, and continues to fidget with his hair. He startles when the persocom lifts his hand and mimics Keith’s actions, playing with the white bangs over his eyes. Keith laughs. “I’m, uh. Not great with names? I have a pet dog— he lives with my mom right now since this apartment doesn’t allow pets— and he still doesn’t have a name, you know? I figured he’d tell me when he was ready. And, uh, you know… Yeah.” 

The persocom smiles. It’s startling to see it on his face, how it lights him up— he looks even more handsome than before, his smile bright and warm. Keith feels his heart give a pathetic leap in his chest. 

Keith studies the persocom, trying to visualize the perfect name for him. 

“Okay. Uh… Steve?” 

The persocom makes a face, something scrunched-up and perplexed.

“Okay, not Steve. You’re right,” Keith says. He crosses his arms and studies him with a deep hum. “Hmmm… Shiloh? Shia? Uh… Shawn?” 

The persocom continues to stare at him, eyes unblinking.

Keith sighs. “I guess I’m stuck on the ‘Sh’ part.” He scrubs a hand through his hair with a sigh and watches the persocom parrot him. “Do you know your name?” 

The persocom nods, dropping a hand to touch his chest and hold it there, over where his heart would be if he were human. It’s a strange gesture, something he isn’t mimicking from Keith— almost organic, almost tentative the way he touches his body and holds it there, fingers splayed. 

“Okay,” Keith says. “Maybe I can guess it. Do you know how to write?” 

The persocom tilts his head, hand lifting from his heart to touch his hair again. “Shii,” he says, pointedly, “Shii.” 

“Uh… Shi-hair?” Keith guesses. “Shi-bangs?” 

He’s pretty sure the persocom is judging him. He didn’t know they could do that. He doesn’t know anything about persocoms, really, and objectively he should find this entire situation comical. 

“Sorry, I told you I’m not good at this!” Keith protests. He slumps. “Names are important. I don’t want to give you a shitty one…” 

The persocom takes him by surprise once more. He reaches out and touches Keith’s hand. 

“Shii…” he says, quietly.

Then, he guides Keith’s hand up so he’ll touch the top of the persocom’s head. Keith marvels at how soft his white hair is, fingers running through it. It’s strange to see such starkly white hair on someone with such a young face. White hair. 

“Oh!” Keith says, realization dawning. “Shiro?” 

The persocom— Shiro— beams at him and nods his head. “Shii.” 

“Ha,” Keith laughs, relieved. “Okay. Shiro. Definitely better than Shiloh.” 

Shiro continues to smile at him, wide and sweet. 

Keith falters. “Uh, no offense to anyone named Shiloh, I guess. But… Okay. Shiro. I like it.” 

Shiro’s smile spreads and Keith has little time to prepare for the incoming hug until Shiro is crashing against him, hugging him tight with a delighted, “Shii!” 

“Oof,” Keith says, struggling against Shiro’s bulk and weight. But this time, he hugs him back and squeezes tight. “Shiro,” he says again. “Nice to meet you.” 

Shiro’s heavy and his hug feels almost infinite. Keith really isn’t used to this feeling at all. This entire evening is shaping up to be a little overwhelming on all fronts. 

With a sigh, Keith draws away from the hug, planting his hand against Shiro’s chest. “Shiro,” he says, and then presses the hand against his own chest, “Keith.” 

Shiro’s mouth opens and Keith sees the brief moment when he tries to say Keith’s name but can’t quite manage it. His shoulders round a little when he says, quietly, “Shii…” 

“It’s okay,” Keith tells him and touches his shoulder, squeezing. “Maybe something’s off with your, uh… speaking-whatever-it’s-called. I’ll figure out a way to fix it and you can tell me everything you want to say, right?” 

Keith gets up off the bed to hunt for his laptop and pull up a step-by-step guide on how to open up a persocom’s specs. He can do this. 

As he gets off the bed, Shiro moves to follow him, too. As soon as he’s on his feet, the blanket slips from his shoulders and tumbles down, exposing him. He stands there, completely naked, and then starts approaching Keith. 

Keith trips over his feet and nearly slams his face down into his desk. “Clothes!” he squeaks out as he scrambles over to the dresser at the foot of his bed, digging through it. He hates how squeaky and strained his voice sounds: “Gotta find you clothes first! Really important!” 

Shiro stands there, completely naked, watching Keith. A moment later, though, he starts parroting Keith, kneeling down and digging under Keith’s bed. Keith isn’t sure if Shiro actually knows what he’s looking for but is making a concerted effort to _not_ stare at the rippling muscles in his back and arms or how thick his thighs are. 

Keith yanks his betraying gaze away from Shiro and focuses on his clothes in the drawer. It’s a sad collection of shirts and pants— and there’s absolutely no way any of it is going to fit Shiro’s bulkier frame. 

“Fuuuuck,” Keith mutters as he unearths his loosest-fitting shirt and a pair of sleep shorts. “This will have to do.”

“Shii?” 

“God, you’re going to look like a sexy dancer in a nightclub or something,” Keith mutters, embarrassed, and turns back towards Shiro. 

Keith nearly drops the clothes in his hands when he looks at Shiro. He’s abandoned searching for clothes under Keith’s bed, apparently. Instead, he’s managed to find one of Keith’s porno magazines. 

The magazine’s opened to one of the more explicit pages and Shiro’s mimicking one of the poses spread out on the page. He’s on his knees, thighs flexing, with his legs spread. Shiro leans back, balancing his weight on one hand and the other touching first at his chest and then sweeping down over his stomach, diving down towards his dick. 

His expression isn’t the same as in the magazine. Shiro doesn’t look smoldering or smug. He looks more curious, observing and parroting. 

Keith still feels a small part of his soul leave his mortal body, though. 

He strangles out a pained squawk and slams his knee hard against his dresser as he scrambles towards Shiro. He falls to his knees in front of Shiro just before Shiro starts touching himself. 

“Wait!” Keith gasps, which as far as requests go, is just a little vague. Still, Shiro’s hand freezes on the flex of his stomach. 

Keith yanks the magazine away and throws it across the room. It whips through the air like a frisbee and lands somewhere near his kitchenette.

“Y- you don’t have to do that,” Keith mutters down at his knees, unable to look Shiro in the eye. “I don’t— I mean— you really. You really don’t.” 

He dares to glance up at Shiro. He’s still holding the same pose as before, but now his hands are resting on his knees. He peers at Keith, as if studying him— that same intense observation and archiving. Keith doesn’t know what Shiro must see. Doesn’t know what Shiro must be thinking, if anything. 

Face burning bright red and knees aching from how hard he landed on them in front of Shiro, he shoves the clothes at him. 

“J- just put these on,” Keith moans out. He’s pretty sure his cheeks will never stop being so hot. 

He helps Shiro to his feet and then turns away so he can change. Silence greets him. Keith feels his blush spreading over his face, touching the tips of his ears, and working its way down his neck. 

He gulps and chances a glance over his shoulder. Shiro stands there, watching Keith, the clothes in his hands.

“Do you, uh… do you need help?” Keith guesses. 

“Shii,” Shiro answers and Keith sighs, resigning himself to his fate, and turns towards Shiro. 

“Put your hands on my shoulders,” Keith tells him and Shiro does so, his hands heavy and gentle on him. With some maneuvering, Keith manages to get Shiro stepping into the shorts and pulling them up his body. He absolutely does not look anywhere inappropriate. 

Once the button to the shorts is secured, he helps Shiro ease into Keith’s shirt. 

Keith dies a little, once he steps back and observes his work. What’s loose-fitting on Keith is sinfully skin-tight on Shiro. The shirt stretches tight over Shiro’s chest and shoulders, short enough to expose a modest sliver of his belly. The shorts are even worse, stopping on his upper thighs and clinging. 

It can’t be comfortable. 

“Okay,” Keith coughs, determined to not be an absolute pervert, “We’ll need to buy you new clothes tomorrow. Um… Just sit down and let me grab my laptop.” 

Shiro sits, cross-legged on the floor and peering up at Keith, watching as he shuffles around, grabbing his laptop off his desk. Keith sits down in front of him and boots his laptop up. It takes an obscenely long time— Keith usually tries to avoid shutting down his computer if he can help it because of the twenty-minute boot-up time— but once he’s able to connect to the internet, he does a quick search for persocom instructions.

He has no idea what model or year Shiro is so it’s a guessing game. He finds a promising enough wikihow and sets his laptop down before shuffling over to Shiro. 

“Alright,” Keith mutters, reading through the steps. “I have to establish your wireless connection.” 

Shiro tilts his head. “Shii…”

Keith looks up at him and lifts his hands, pausing before actually touching him. “This okay?” 

Shiro studies him and then leans forward so Keith can reach him. Keith smiles a little and brushes the little wisps of his hair back and away from his dual-colored ears. 

“Your ears are cute… kinda like bunny ears or something,” Keith murmurs, pressing the bottom panels of each ear up and holding, waiting for the flashing purple light to indicate an activated wireless connection. 

Shiro smiles, sweet and dimpling, when Keith touches him. He stays close to Keith even once Keith lets go of his ears. The ears keep blinking and Keith pulls up his connector indicator on his laptop, waiting for Shiro’s signal to correspond with his laptop. 

It doesn’t pull up. Keith heaves a sigh. 

“Come on, baby, you can do it…” he mutters, tapping his fingers lightly against the struggling, whirling hardware. The computer does not respond to his plea, however.

Keith glances back over towards Shiro to make sure his ears are still flashing. Shiro’s watching him, eyes strangely gentle. Keith frowns as the purple lights stop flashing after enough time of inactivity. 

“Let me grab a USB…” Keith mutters, standing and retreating to his desk. After some digging, he manages to find an old USB cord. He connects it to his computer and then reaches again for Shiro.

Shiro shuffles closer and bows his head, tipping one ear against Keith’s palm. Keith thumbs at the bottom panel of Shiro’s ear. Shiro smiles at him, almost like he’s endeared, when Keith continues to fumble. 

Finally, Shiro takes pity on him and lifts his hand, unsnapping his ear for him so it parts down the middle, like a clamshell. He fishes inside and tugs out a wire with a USB connector and offers it to Keith.

“Oh,” Keith says, feeling stupid, and takes the cord from him. “Thanks, Shiro.” 

“Shii,” Shiro says, cheerfully, and beams at Keith like he’s proud of him. 

Keith ducks his head and guides the cord down to connect to his own laptop. The laptop starts whirling all over again, fan working overtime to cool the decrepit old thing down. Keith sighs and waits, tapping his fingers absently along the edge of the screen. 

“You can do it,” he tells it, gently, “It’s okay. Come on…” 

Once connected, persocom specs are supposed to display on the screen. Keith waits. Finally, Shiro’s ears flash purple and the specs window full-screens on Keith’s computer: 

_NO DATA._

Keith stares at it for a moment as if expecting that, after a moment, his poor old computer will refresh itself and give him Shiro’s real specs. But the moment never comes. 

Keith pulls up the wikihow again. “If there’s no data projected, all data has been lost or you must install software to operate the persocom,” Keith reads aloud with a frown. “If software has been installed and your persocom is an older model, but no data displays, the persocom may be defective. Check warranty information.” 

Keith frowns deeper and shuts his laptop, turning back towards Shiro, arms crossed. 

“You don’t look defective.” 

Shiro stares at him, eyes slowly widening at the words. 

Keith’s taken aback when Shiro reaches out a hand and curls it tight around Keith’s shirt, gripping. 

Keith breathes out a soft breath and touches Shiro’s wrist. “Hey… don’t worry. I’m not throwing you out or anything.” He shrugs. “My computer’s old as hell. It probably just can’t handle displaying your specs.” 

“Shii…” Shiro murmurs quietly. 

Keith smiles at him and squeezes his wrist again, gently. Shiro lets go of Keith’s shirt but only so he can grab Keith’s hand instead, holding it in an almost death-grip. Keith studies their hands for a moment before looking up at Shiro. 

“Hey, don’t worry,” Keith says. “I’ll figure it out, see what I can do to help you. You think this is enough for me to throw you out?” 

Shiro blinks at him, relief washing over his face. 

Keith feels a little pang in his chest when he says, “I’m not ready to give up.” 

Shiro perks up and this time Keith at least half-expects and prepares for the hugs. Keith curls his arms around Shiro as he flops down against him, cuddling up against Keith’s shoulder. Keith sighs and rubs his back, unsure if Shiro’d take anything from the gesture but unsure what to do otherwise. 

“Shii,” Shiro sighs, quiet and almost mournful, nosing at Keith’s neck. 

“Yeah, big guy,” Keith sighs, rubbing his back. “Sorry I’m no good at this kinda crap.” 

Shiro draws away from the hug again only to cup Keith’s cheeks, staring into his eyes. Not for the first time since he’s woken up, Keith gets the distinct impression that Shiro’s trying to tell him something. 

“Guess we all have our strengths,” Keith decides, looking into Shiro’s eyes. They’re a pretty grey color, he thinks— he hadn’t noticed it until now. 

Keith smiles, wobbly and a little crooked. “Hey, Shiro.” 

“Shii,” Shiro answers, smiling back.

Keith laughs, quietly. “We’ll have to figure out another way to communicate, eventually.” 

He turns away and unhooks Shiro from his old computer and lets the cord retract back into Shiro’s ear before closing it up with a snap. He brushes his fingers through Shiro’s hair absently, without really thinking about doing it, before dropping his hand away. 

Aside from the slight speech issue, Keith can’t imagine what could be wrong with Shiro enough to justify throwing him in the garbage. He feels that same ache down in the pit of his stomach, that fear of abandonment, of being discarded. Even if Shiro’s just a persocom, it feels too sad to consider just throwing him away and just forgetting about him. 

“Anyway,” Keith mutters, fiddling with his hair and tucking the longer strands back behind his ears, looking down. “I’ll figure something out, you know? It’s going to be okay, Shiro.”

“Shii!”

Shiro’s hand falls heavy on Keith’s shoulder, mimicking Keith’s gesture from earlier. It’s profoundly comforting and Keith can feel the strength of Shiro’s body just from that gesture alone. When Keith looks up at him, Shiro’s smiling at him— something gentle and warm. Grateful. Encouraging. 

Maybe Keith’s projecting after all. 

“In the meantime,” Keith says, “You’re not in pain, right?”

Shiro considers him, head tilted. Keith’s sure he imagines that his expression is softer after the question. Regardless, Shiro shakes his head in answer. 

Keith sighs. “Okay, good.” 

Keith coils up the discarded USB cord and picks up his laptop, returning them both to his desk. So he has no idea what Shiro’s operating system is or any of his specs, but he can figure it out. Hunk knows a bit about persocoms, so maybe he’ll be able to help him out. Or Uncle Kolivan, possibly, considering he just got a new persocom for work. 

“Keith.” 

And he could also just call up the big computer store on his way to work tomorrow, maybe, or—

Keith whips his head around and stares at Shiro. “Woah, did you just say my name?” 

Shiro’s expression is tight, brow furrowed, like it was a great struggle for him to have just spoken. It takes him a moment, but then, quietly he repeats, “Keith.” 

“Woah, yeah!” Keith says, bright, and scrambles back down to kneel in front of Shiro, grinning at him. “Good job!” 

Shiro’s expression clears and he looks relieved, nodding to mimic Keith’s nod. 

“Keith,” Shiro repeats quietly, hand lifting and touching Keith’s face. Keith draws in a quiet breath at the touch, how soft and gentle his hand feels against his cheek, his thumb so close to his lips. 

“Yeah,” Keith says. “My name’s Keith. Yours is Shiro.”

Shiro nods, thoughtfully, mouth thinning. “Shii…” 

“It’s okay,” Keith tells him, smiling. “Don’t force yourself. But, hey— it’s nice to hear your voice.” 

Shiro blinks at him, perplexed, and Keith feels himself start to blush. He clears his throat, sighing and sitting down on the floor, untucking his legs out from under him. 

Shiro nods and points at Keith. “Keith.” Then he turns and looks at the window and points at that, instead. “Keith.”

“Ah, well, not quite,” Keith laughs.

Shiro frowns. He points at the bed. “Keith.” 

“Nope,” Keith says around another laugh. “Try again.” 

Shiro’s quiet, contemplating, and then points towards the tea kettle on the kitchenette’s counter. “Keith.” 

Keith can’t tell if Shiro’s serious or if it’s possible for a persocom to tease him. Shiro beams at Keith like he’s so proud of himself and Keith, despite himself, feels endeared. He laughs, shaking his head. 

“Shiro,” Keith teases back, pointing at the ceiling. Shiro frowns at him, blinking. 

Keith feels a little bad laughing in his face, but he also can’t exactly help it. It’s not even that funny of a joke, and yet Keith can’t remember the last time he actually giggled. And that’s what he’s doing right now— an almost delirious chuckle. 

He points at a few more objects, calling the all by Shiro’s name. It’s infinitely amusing to watch Shiro’s brow furrow and his lips thin. He doesn’t know how advanced persocoms are. He can’t know if Shiro even comprehends. 

“You know, it’s funny,” Keith says, once he stops laughing, more wondering than amused now. 

“Shii?”

“The way you say my name…” Keith shrugs. “It’s nice.”

Shiro considers this and then says distinctly: “Keith.” 

Keith laughs, shaking his head fondly. “Shiro.” 

Shiro looks _so_ delighted that, really, Keith should have expected that one more hug was incoming. Still, he lets out a surprised squeak once Shiro throws his full weight against him and squeezes him tight. 

Keith sighs as his back hits the floor, Shiro crushing against him, his arms tight around Keith’s shoulders. 

Keith chuckles, hand lifting to pat the back of Shiro’s head. 

“Guess I’ll have to get used to hugs now,” Keith sighs and then hugs Shiro tight. It isn’t all bad. He can figure this all out. Hugging isn’t the worst thing he’s ever had to do, after all, and it feels nice in Shiro’s arms. 

Shiro snuggles closer to him and, as far as Keith can tell, is content to just be held. 

“Shii,” he whispers, quiet, against Keith’s neck. 

“Yeah,” Keith says, just as quiet. “I’ve got you, Shiro.”

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject) (including the [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/commentbuilder)), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates responses, including:
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>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
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> This author replies to comments.
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>  **ETA:** While not created specifically for this fic but rather for Sa's Chobits AU, there's some really excellent fanart you should definitely check out for this:  
> \- Sa drew [art inspired by scenes](https://twitter.com/LStrikesArt/status/1141808157527687173) for the AU!  
> \- Fran drew [this cute comic](https://twitter.com/furanchu/status/1141907555934846976) based off Sa's AU! 
> 
>  
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/stardropdream)


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